Smile
by PaleLittleGirl
Summary: When it was over, when everyone was in thier beds, sleeping a peaceful sleep, Harry got out his uncle's shotgun. The residents of 4, Privet Drive would never be the same again. Rated for gore.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to some British chick, I think. Or maybe she's English. I just know that its not me. ;)

AN: This is dedicated to a certain reviewer...

AN:I'm actually the author's best friend. She's not as crazy as this story makes her seem.

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**Smile**

Harry found it odd when Petunia made a special dinner for him.

Because it was his birthday, she said.

And she smiled at him.

_Smiled. _

It was after this dinner, this _special birthday dinner _that Harry made the decision that would change his life forever.

He remembered a day, when he could not have been more than, say, six or seven years old, he saw Uncle Vernon's nine millimeter revolver. It was an old thing, more to scare an intruder than to actually be shot. Vernon would replace it a few years later.

With a shotgun.

As a child, Harry loved to take out his uncle's shotgun and stare at it, stroke it lovingly, knowing it could do more damage than almost anything else he could think of. It was a true instrument of death, and it made him feel powerful.

He was a big man with a big gun, and nobody could hurt him.

And then Hogwarts happened, and suppressed his love for power. For a time.

And then the _special birthday dinner _happened.

Pot roast, homemade. A _cake, _of all things. With _candles. _Make a wish.

And SMILES.

When it was over, when everyone was in their bed, sleeping a peaceful sleep, Harry got out his uncle's shotgun.

He instantly felt the power course through his veins again, as it had years ago.

He became a big man with a big gun, once again. And it felt _good. _

He crept into his aunt and uncle's bedroom.

And he SHOT.

It was LOUD, so LOUD Harry thought his eardrums had burst.

There was blood, so much blood.

And little red bits that _splattered. _

His aunt would never, ever smile at him like that again.

She had no longer a mouth to smile with.

His uncle had screamed, dove at him, and Harry was ready.

He did not want his uncle to die quickly, however.

He SHOT.

Uncle on the ground, clutching the remains of what could have been a left leg.

For the first time in weeks, Harry smiled.

Uncle.

Uncle.

Vernon.

It hurts, doesn't it?

Stop screaming.

Listen.

Now.

Do you want me to shoot the other one? I didn't think so.

He bent down slowly to his uncles ear, savoring the coppery smell of blood. He licked his lips.

One little birthday dinner can't make up for eleven years of abuse, Uncle, he whispered slowly, enunciating each syllable.

Surely you knew that.

Now I am going to go into your son's room, and shoot him. Do you want his death to be quick? Like your wife's?

Or do you want it slow, like your's will be?

I put something in his drink, you know. That's why he hasn't come to rescue you.

Not that he could, mind you. Fat, stupid, slovenly pig. It shames me that the same blood runs through our veins

Harry paused and stared at red stain that had become his aunt. He felt a sense of incompletion, like something was missing.

He sighed, and strode over to the body, a kitchen knife clutched tightly in his hand.

His work was never done.

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Reviews are most welcome.


	2. Blood

**Chapter 2- Blood**

**A/N- Yay, chapter two! I must say, writing this story is very entertaining. Thank you reviewers! I thought this would go ignored, so you made me happy. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc, etc. **

Blood.

There was so much blood.

On his hands, his face.

In the corner, his uncle moaned. He was in agony, Harry reflected.

How cute.

The thing that had been his aunt was nothing now, nothing but a pile of meat, already rotting.

An improvement. Yes, an improvement. She no longer could yell at him now, could no longer tell him what to do. The corners of Harry's mouth twitched.

Please...stop.

Harry rolled his eyes. Really? He's _still _begging? One would think he has realized his fate already.

H..elp. Me...

Harry was still holding the knife. Wet, red things dripped off of it. Petunia dripped off of it.

P...lease...

UNCLE.

He strode over to him. Bent down. Slapped him in the face. His uncle moaned, and tears flowed down his fat purple face.

SHUT. UP.

SHUT UP.

His hands were covered with blood.

Crimson.

He held them to his face, licked them.

Savored the flavor, the scent.

This, this was truly meant to be. Perfection, lived and acted. He smiled. Why he had never done this before, he didn't know.

Picked up the shotgun, _his _shotgun.

Uncle.

Loaded his weapon.

The familiar click.

Hold out your hand.

HOLD OUT YOUR HAND.

HOLD. OUT. YOUR. FUCKING. HAND.

See this? Feel this?

You're touchinig your death, old man. Oh, for _Merlin's sake, _stop crying! You're acting like a five year old.

Harry cocked his head.

How does it feel? Hmm?

You scared?

Finger on the trigger.

D...on't... Pl..ease...

Wait.

Hope in his Uncle's face. Pathetic.

Harry smacked his forehead.

How could I have forgotten? Ran his tongue across even, white teeth.

Dudley. Silly of me. You must think me a fool.

But you musn't.

I'll repair my mistake, don't you worry.

Sorry? What was that?

You'll do anything? _Anything? _Really? Anything. Hmm.

How about this? Hold out your hand again.

Yes, that's it. Hold it steady, now.

Emerald eyes flashed.

He SHOT.

His uncle... Harry shuddered with delight.

His uncle _screamed. _Loud, and long.

There was blood once again, so much blood.

He loved it. Wiped a fragment of finger, perhaps index, from his face impatiently.

Bent down. Placed his hand under his uncle's chin.

Look at me, Vernon.

Look at me.

There is nothing you can do, Uncle.

Nothing. Your death, like you're son's, is inevitable.

Now...

Harry rose, streched.

I'll be right back.

Little Duddykins awaits.


End file.
